Wednesday, May 19, 2004 |
Nuke The Bronx From Orbit...
I hate the Yankees. I hate Gary Sheffield -- I hated him even when he was a Dodger. His psycho player act wore thin then and it's even thinner now. And what the F is with that bat-waggling? Hit the ball or don't, buster. I hate Jeter and his flashy-ass spin-and-throw move that loses the ball about one time in eight. I hate Giambi and his beady little eyes. Every minute he spends on the DL or riding the pine is like a vacation for everyone else. And, God help me, I hate A-Rod and his simpering, passive-aggressive doe eyes one minute, and Mafia-inspired backstabbing the next.
And I hate their fans. Their fans have been an absolute plague on the Angels' boards this week. It's not enough that they win the game -- noooo. They have to gloat about it. At the Big A, they're loud, obnoxious, frequently drunk, and ugly. Yeah, I said it, ugly. We got this one enormous fat guy with a belly hanging well over his shorts waving a Yankee banner between sections trying to get the multitudinous Yankee fans to whoop it up some more. And, sorry Alex, the ump did not hand us the game yesterday. Every third game they don't win is because of bad umpiring, not because they didn't play well. No, nothing like that.
Anyway -- Lackey -- another less-than-optimal night for John, though you have to give him some credit for having faced a really killer lineup (albeit in somewhat of a slump). But he needs to find his control and fast. This game really gives you a feel now for just how much this lineup misses Glaus.
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